


It's Better Not To Know (Love Is Hard)

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Duets to Special Education, a Brittana mix</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Better Not To Know (Love Is Hard)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnearlington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/gifts).



> Written/crafted for Lynne, on her birthday.

**Constant Knot – City and Colour**  
 _I wish I could disappear / And run away from all my fear / **A constant knot in my cut**  / Tied with uncertainty and lust / A classic case, I suppose_  
  
Santana is eight when she feels something twist in her stomach. She calls her dad at his office and tells him  _I feel it, right under my ribcage_  and  _no, Dad, it doesn’t really hurt, but…_  and gets nowhere with it.   
  
It’s there for a couple of days, but she forgets all about it when a new family that moved in next door finally comes over to introduce themselves. They have a daughter her age, named Brittany, and Santana spends the summer running through their back yards and playing cowboys and Indians. She gets a scrape on her knee when Brittany convinces her to ride on the handlebars of the blonde’s bike and that pain ( _the burn of the asphalt under her skin_ ) is enough to wash away the dull ache that’s leftover.  
  
She’s sixteen when the ache turns back into a twisting feeling. It’s like a clock someone is winding inside of her, slowly and painfully. It starts when Brittany’s doesn’t chase her as she storms out of Brittany’s bedroom and tell her to come back. It gets worse as the days goes on and Brittany pushes the wheeled wonder around like it’s her job.  
  
It twists and it turns and it grows, spreading up into her chest and wrapping around where her heart would be on an X-ray machine, if she had one. It tightens every time Brittany scoots away from her in Glee and when she looks at Brittany while she sings and the blonde looks past her. It squeezes again when Brittany slides past their usual table at lunch, fawning over the Legless Loser ( _and it only loosens a little when Tina throws the two of them a look and gets up to leave the table_ ). It shoots up into her throat when she sees Brittany standing in the hall looking like Professor X just rolled over an animal in front of her.  
  
The knot presses hard against her throat, her lungs, her heart, her stomach,  _everywhere_. And each moment that Brittany moves further from her, or doesn’t dance next to her, or stares at longing at Skidmark instead of staring at  _her_  it sinks a little further.  
  
She knows how to untangle it; the right words will pull it apart faster than she can solve a Gordian’s Knot in the privacy of her own room, but the fear ties it a little tighter. She could untangle herself from this mess, but the  _fear_  would unravel her completely and she just can’t.  
  
She swallows the knot instead, keeps it at bay, and rationalizes that Brittany will have to come back to her eventually; she always does.  
  
\---  
  
 **Falling – The Civil Wars**  
 _Haven’t you noticed me drifting / **Oh, let me tell you I am**  / Tell me it’s nothing / Try and convince me / That I’m not drowning / Oh, let me tell you I am_  
  
Brittany isn’t sure how long she lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and tracing lines in the paint that don’t actually exist. It must be a while, because when she looks away, the sun is starting to rise and she knows Santana left her when it was still dark.  
  
Santana  _left_  her. Just, got angry with her and didn’t even let her explain before she ran off.  _I bet she expected me to follow her, too_ , the voice in Brittany’s head whispers. She used to think it was her cat, telling her what to do, but Santana told her it wasn’t. So, it wasn’t, because Santana said so. Because Santana always told her the truth and always helped her, like when Brittany didn’t know which right hand Kurt was talking about ( _his right hand was on her left side, and Santana said it could have happened to anyone_ ), or when she couldn’t find her wheelchair ( _and somehow, it was in the empty Science wing, where Santana always let her push the brunette against the lockers and pretend like they were really in the main hall, where everyone could see them_ ).  
  
 _So,_  the voice says.  _If she always tells the truth, then she really must not love me_.  
  
She gets up in the morning and for the first time since the first day of freshman year, Brittany doesn’t wait for Santana at her locker. She decides that if Santana isn’t in love with her, she just won’t be in love with Santana either.  
  
Santana reaches for her hand in Spanish class ( _to trace words on her palm, like she’s reading Brittany’s future_ ) but Brittany pulls her hand back and presses it against the flat cover of her notebook so she doesn’t give in. She  _needs_  to not give in, because she usually does and it’s fun, but it  _hurts_. It hurts every time she looks up and Santana is somewhere else, hanging off someone else. It hurts when Santana is always ahead of her, never looking back to make sure Brittany is keeping up ( _and usually, she can’t, because Santana always moves too fast_ ).  
  
Santana doesn’t even notice her falling behind.  
  
So she decides that if Santana doesn’t notice her falling behind, she won’t notice Santana storming ahead; she won’t notice Santana at all.  
  
\---  
  
 **Make This Go On Forever – Snow Patrol**  
 _I can’t be as sorry as you think I should / But I still love you more than anyone else could / **All that I keep thinking throughout this whole flight / Is ‘it could take my whole damn life to make it right’**  / You say it is much more than just my last mistake / And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes_  
  
 _Brittany wants a song? Then that’s what she’ll get,_  Santana thinks, storming through the halls. This whole ignoring her thing has been going on too long and Brittany isn’t even dating Sweater Vest anymore,  _so what’s the hold up?_  Santana has been waiting for  _days_  and Brittany still hasn’t called her or texted her or even said hello in the hallways.  
  
Sure, Brittany will sit next to her in Glee or at lunch, but she always finds someone else to talk to -  _anyone_  but Santana.  
  
She rounds the corner in the quad by Schuester’s room and comes to a halt, feeling her ears grow red in anger. Brittany is sitting with the top of her head pushed up under the ledge of the sill and she’s flipping through a magazine completely nonchalant, like Santana hasn’t been raging through the halls pushing freshman out of her way like a one-woman wrecking crew. She swallows the anger bubbling in her throat because she knows that being mad will get her nowhere except further back than she already is.  
  
“Brittany,” is as much as she says before she hears voices. A thin hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her down against a bony shoulder. She almost pushes away until she realizes how close she is to Brittany; how she could just lean in a little and scrape her teeth across the edge of Brittany’s jaw the way she likes.  
  
“Is that?”  
  
Brittany nods. “Uh huh.”  
  
The smirk that slides across her face feels like the first familiar thing she’s experienced in the last week and a half. Brittany’s body is pressed against hers, her own knee on either side of the blonde as they follow the routine they learned as thirteen-year-olds ( _that summer they rebelled and watching all the ‘bad’ movies they could find, even Dirty Dancing_ ). She whips her hair and the moan only slips out as Brittany’s hand grazes her thigh. Her arms slide around Brittany and she tugs her closer but Schuester and the Ginger spin around, two pairs of pants away from doing the dirty in the classroom and Brittany pulls her back down to the grass and grabs her gym bag, swinging over her shoulder. She extends a finger and beckons.  
  
Santana follows. ( _She always will, but she doesn’t say it enough._ )Her pinkie hooks around Brittany as they spin down the hallway, Brittany skipping behind her until two long arms wind their way around Santana’s waist and Brittany’s breathing hard and hot against the back of her neck.  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
Her knees give a little but Brittany picks up the slack, holding her tighter. She covers Brittany’s hand with her own and squeezes. “I missed you too,” she breathes out as Brittany’s nose bumps along the curve of her neck.  
  
Brittany smiles against her skin. “Are you going to apologize?”  
  
She stiffens and her eyes widen, because  _no_ , she’s not here to  _apologize_. She’s here to get some answers about why, if Brittany isn’t seeing Artie anymore, she hasn’t come back yet. She’s here to yell at Brittany for just ignoring her like she’s suddenly switched bodies with Jacob Ben Israel. She’s _here_  because she wants Brittany.  
  
Brittany takes a step back, her eyes hard again. Santana tries to reach out to her, just to touch her, but Brittany shakes her head and keeps stepping back and back and back until Santana is right back where she started, wondering where Brittany went.  
  
\---  
  
 **Cannonball – Damien Rice**  
 _There’s still a little bit of your song / In my ear / **There’s still a little bit of your words / I long to hear**  / You step a little closer each day / So close that I can’t see what’s going on_  
  
Santana is easy to fall into. She’s always been easy to fall into for Brittany ( _not for anyone else, because Santana can be difficult sometimes_ ), so her hand slides up Santana’s thigh without too much effort; her body falls against Santana’s without too much thought; she lets herself get wrapped up in Santana’s embrace because she misses it.  
  
Brittany knows Santana feels it too. She can feel the other girl’s heart beat faster under her touch. She can hear the way Santana’s breath catches in the hollow of her throat ( _and she misses that hollow; misses kissing from right under Santana’s chin down to her collarbone_ ).  
  
“I’ve missed you,” she admits, nuzzling against the back of Santana’s neck.  
  
Santana’s hand presses down on top of hers, wrapped around Santana’s waist from behind. “I missed you too,” she hears Santana say. Brittany grins, pressing her smile to the skin between Santana’s neck and collar bone.  
  
The words are out before she can stop them. She  _wants_  to stop them really because she hasn’t touched Santana in days and her fingers ache to slide across the plane of Santana’s stomach and across her hip bone. She wants to hear the way Santana’s does her giggle ( _the breathy one that sends a weird, but_ good _feeling from her heart down to her toes and back up again_ ). She wants to lie in her bed with her shoes off and wind her arms around Santana’s waist like they are now.  
  
She  _doesn’t_  want to say anything that will have Santana doing what she’s doing now: turning in her arms with eyes that aren’t the good shade of dark.  
  
 _Are you going to apologize_  echoes in her head louder than the time she stood too close to the bell in the church balcony at that fancy ceremony in eighth grade. It rings in her ears and Santana just stands there.  
  
The ringing gets louder and louder and it makes her head hurt so much she wants to wince. Instead, she closes her eyes and when she opens them again, Santana isn’t even there ( _it’s just another girl in Cheerios uniform, because it’s easier to be mad at someone who isn’t Santana than it is to be mad at Santana_ ).  
  
She sees Santana’s ( _no, the girl in the Cheerios uniform_ ) hand reach out towards her but she takes a step back.  
  
The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform doesn’t get to not apologize for everything she did wrong and still touch her. The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform doesn’t get to give her sweet lady kisses, or dance with her down the hallway. The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform doesn’t get her after leaving her alone and confused, after not calling, after ruining everything.  
  
She remembers why she was hiding under the windowsill in the first place. She can still feel The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform’s touch along her arms and her kisses on her neck and the way that, for the first time since ever, The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform’s body pressed her hard into the comforter of her bed, like she was trying to drown her in downy feathers.  
  
Brittany almost loses her resolve and turns around, but out of the corner of her eye, The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform isn’t chasing her or saying sorry or asking her to come back.  
  
Santana is easy to fall into.  
  
The Girl in the Cheerios Uniform is easy to fall away from.  
  
\---  
  
 **Inside These Lines – Trent Dabbs**  
 _ **Have we lost what we had**  / Inside these lines, inside these lines / Could watch and stay the same / All this time and just be fine / Are we gonna find ourselves / Inside these lines, inside these lines_  
  
Puck goes on and on about his stupid Eggos and Santana  _oohs_  and awws at all the right moments like a champ; she’s not even trying at this point, just throwing out comments while she watches the way Brittany won’t look right back at her. Santana knows that trick: look just over someone’s shoulder and it’s almost like looking at them. Santana taught Brittany that trick,  _so who does she think she’s foolng?_  
  
A heavy, uncomfortable weight settles on her shoulders and Puck smirks at her. She thinks he might be trying to be charming, but it comes off as skeezy, especially when he leans in like he’s going to whisper something in her ear and bites down on her earlobe instead.  
  
She a  _champ_ ; she goes with it, curling her hand around his thigh and throwing her head back. She can barely see over the table, but Brittany’s arm is moving in a way that makes the breadsticks she just ate revolt against her stomach. The nausea fades as Brittany whispers into Vanilla Ice’s ear ( _something about if he’s playing hard to get or being rude and ignoring her while she pinches his thigh_ ).  
  
Puck calls for a dine-and-dash, which is uber-trashy, but she didn’t bring cash because  _hello_. That’s not her job. She’ll give Sweater Vest one point; he slips some cash under the bill and wheels behind them out into the parking lot.  
  
What happens next is familiar enough and for the first time since the first time, she feels her heart beat a little faster. Puck backs her up against the side of his truck, trapping her against the rusted metal that cuts through the thick fabric of her Cheerios skirt enough so she can feel it against the small of her back. He leans in, his rough tongue snaking down her neck in a sloppy trail of saliva. ( _That this ever turned her on grosses her out, because he has no technique, no finesse, and he doesn’t smell like vanilla and sugar the way…_ )  
  
This is the part where she feel her breath catch. In the routine, this is where she reaches one arm out blindly and finds the sleeve of Brittany’s jacket; where she tugs a little until a soft body is pressed against her side; where she turns her head a little to the left and finds the slight dip in Brittany’s chin and traces it with the tip of her tongue; where she winds her hand through Brittany’s hair and tries to pull her closer.  
  
She reaches out, except Brittany isn’t there.  
  
Santana pushes Puck back, ignoring his grunt of protest as she scans the parking lot for the flash of blonde and red. She sees the vest first and growls, taking a step towards them.  
  
Puck grabs her around the waist and holds her still. “Let my man work, would you?”  
  
“Your  _man_  is  _working_  on the wrong girl,” she growls, struggling a bit.  
  
Puck’s laugh in her ear is sharp and paralyzing. “I heard what you did to them.” He bites down on her earlobe again and  _God_ , she hates that. “You owe her one.”  
  
She wants to call bullshit. They have a goddamn routine and  _usually_ , she thinks,  _that’s the only thing Brittany is good at_ , following the steps someone else has laid out for her. But she watches Artie twirl his gloveless fingers in Brittany’s top and pull her down a little so he can kiss her. Brittany breaks the routine when she kisses him back and the lines they’ve drawn are suddenly shattered and she’s in Puck’s arms while he mutters something that’s probably supposed to sound sexy, but doesn’t.  
  
She’s a champ. She goes with it and Brittany goes home with Artie.  
  
\---  
  
 **Sailed On – Landon Pigg**  
 _Please don’t trouble yourself / I only want your love / You keep giving me your help / **Oh please stop playing along**  / You know you’re wasting your energy / And you’re breaking my heart_  
  
 _Don’t look at her, don’t look at her_  a voice in her head says. The voice sounds like Artie and she turns, realizing that it  _is_  Artie and he’s mumbling the words under his breath the way Coach makes them chant “ _I am a winner, I am a winner_ ” while they hold poses.   
  
Brittany leans into his shoulder and feels Santana’s eyes on her the entire time ( _even though Santana’s mouth is wrapped around Puck’s earlobe like she’s trying to suck his ear off_ ). She makes it look good. “Who aren’t we looking at,” she asks, her bottom lip just grazing his ear the right way, the way Santana taught her.  
  
He squeaks as her hand runs up and down his leg. She’s confused, because she was sure he didn’t feel it when she bit his thigh by accident the last time they had sex, but she shrugs and leans in a little closer. “Are you playing hard to get?”  
  
Artie answers her but she doesn’t hear him because she’s too busy watching Santana laugh at some stupid joke Puck told. Santana throws her head back and she blushes when she realizes she stares just a little too long at the shadow that Santana’s chin drops across the arch of her neck. She blushes even harder when she realizes that Puck is watching her watch Santana. He winks like he’s trying to say, “ _It’s okay, I won’t tell_.”  
  
“Dine and dash,” she hears dimly. Puck is pushing Santana out of the booth and she stares at them helplessly for a minute before nodding to herself and climbing over Artie.  
  
It’s a routine they’ve developed, but Artie has never been here before; he doesn’t know the rules and she knows what that feels like, to suddenly have someone change everything on you without warning. She hangs back for him, just a little behind Puck and Santana, and sees him put some money on the table, under his plate.  
  
When they make it to the parking lot,  _she_  knows what happens next. Artie though, kind of jumps a little when Puck pushes Santana up against the side of his truck and kisses her.  
  
“I should apologize,” he says quietly. “I was really, really rude to you in the hallway the other day.”  
  
She tilts her head ( _a sign that he should continue that he misses_ ) and eventually sighs. “You hurt my feelings,” she admits, scuffing her toe against the pavement. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Puck slide his mouth down Santana’s neck and she knows Santana is going to reach for her soon.  
  
She won’t be there.  
  
“I know,” he says quickly, nodding so hard she’s afraid his head is going to roll off his neck and across the parking lot. “And I’m really sorry.”  
  
 _Sorry_. He’s really  _sorry_. That word does the same thing to her that the green rock does to the cute Clark on the television: it makes her knees go weak a little bit. He looks up at her with the same shiny eyes he had at Regionals last year ( _hope, Santana had explained to her later. That’s what hope looks like, I think_ ) and he looks really,  _really_  sorry.  
  
He looks like he means it.  
  
So when his hand reaches for the hem of her Cheerios top, she lets him tangle his fingers in it and tug her down. She can feel Santana’s eyes burning into her skin but she leans forward anyway and kisses Artie, lingering just a second longer than she needs to.  
  
Puck’s truck roars to life and she pulls back as it peals out of the parking lot.  
  
They both realize that Puck was their ride at the same time and Artie mumbles under his breath that he’ll call his mom; they can drop her off.  
  
“Don’t be silly,” she says, gripping the handles of his wheelchair. “It’s nice out. We’ll walk.”  
  
Really, she just needs the cool air to clear her mind ( _and she needs a project to make her forget the way Santana was already not wearing her Cheerios top when Puck drove away_ ).

\---

 **Complicated – Robin Thicke**  
 _I wish I could change / I wish I could change / **There’s no way, there’s no way, there’s no way**  / I can get back that girl / Cause I’m too complicated_  
  
They’ve reached an impasse. The dwarf offers her opinion out of left field and calls it a stalemate. ( _It’s kind of like winning the war, even though she lost every single battle_.) Santana lets her ramble on for a moment, but when she gets tired of rolling her eyes, she pushes past the midget and goes into the choir room, cautiously taking her seat next to Brittany in the front row.  
  
 _Cautiously._  
  
Santana Lopez is being cautious, each step and breath and glance is calculated precisely, around the one person she could always be herself with. She keeps at least a half a foot of space between them at all times and never looks directly at Brittany when she asks a question. She’s walking on eggshells and it’s gross; she jumps every time someone slams a locker too loudly and flinches if she sees the red of a Cheerios jacket come too close.  
  
“Hi,” she murmurs quietly. She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls as Puck butters the floor. She’s seen this sub before, if it’s who Hummel says it is, and she won’t fall for something like that.  
  
Brittany smiles, her head tipped to the side. “I think he’s using the wrong stuff to clean the floor.”  
  
Santana spends so much energy trying to not laugh that she forgets to stop her hand from reaching over and squeezing Brittany’s knee. She feels her heart tear in her chest a little and she can’t be sure what’s more embarrassing: her hand hanging awkwardly between them where she finally realized what she was doing, or that Brittany moved away from her first. ( _She decides the first is more embarrassing and the second just_ hurts _more than she wants to admit_.)  
  
She’s trying, but it’s complicated. They’ve built up this thing they used to do ( _used to do, the voice in her head repeats, because they don’t, they won’t, anymore_ ) and it’s hard to change it all of the sudden.  _She_  can’t just change all of a sudden. She’s too entangled in Brittany and the curve of her hip and the dip of her mouth.  
  
Santana wishes she could change, if only to make it easier for them both, but she can’t.   
  
 _It’s better this way,_  the voice says again.  _It’s better if you’re just friends, because this way you’ll stop hurting her_. The voice is right. If she just stays away long enough to change the parts of her day that revolve around Brittany, she can be better and less… Santana. She can be less Santana and more like someone else; someone else who can be Brittany’s friend and be okay with just that. She wishes she could be someone who doesn’t put Brittany down just because it’s easy and because she can and because it’s her first instinct when something scares her.  
  
The sub  _glides_  across the floor so gracefully that Puck’s mouth drops open and even Brittany lets out an awed breath. Santana savors the sound and locks it away inside in a space she has decided to keep, even as she tries to change herself. Just that sound and just that small space will stay the same.  
  
She’ll change everything else for Brittany if she can.  
  
\---  
  
 **Reaching – Jason Reeves**  
 _You’re inches from my fingertips / I’ve come as close as I can get / I’m reaching but the rest is up to you / **I’m trying but it’s all that I can do**  / I’m reaching but the rest is up to you_  
  
Brittany feels Santana’s hand wrap around her wrist while they’re singing and she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself. Santana had almost touched her earlier, while they were waiting for Ms. Holiday ( _who should sub for them always_ ), and she had jumped.  
  
She didn’t mean to, not really. It’s just been a while ( _ten days, since watching Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury dance together, which is the longest time they’ve gone without touching ever_ ) and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. So she jumped and leaned away from it and Santana had sat there with her sad face on and her hand just sort of there. It made Brittany want to pick it up and hold it in her hand and run her fingers up and down Santana’s arm, the way she used to.  
  
Except there’s a new rule, something she made up without anybody else’s help. Usually Santana makes the rules; sometimes, Artie likes to pretend he can make them too, but she laughs at his because they’re more funny than serious; her mom has a ton of rules, but Brittany doesn’t even need them anymore ( _she’s way to grownup now to need to be told she has to brush her teeth every night_ ). For the first time, she made up a rule by herself and it’s going to be the one rule she’ll follow until she doesn’t need to anymore.  
  
 _I’m only going halfway_. That’s the rule. Brittany knows ( _can see it, in Santana’s eyes and the way she always pauses and breathes slowly before she tries to talk to Brittany and turns away instead_ ) that Santana is trying, but she’s going to have to try harder.  _I’m only going halfway_  is the new rule, because she’s always the one who reaches out first; she’s always the one left standing in the hallway, hugging her books to her chest.  
  
She hasn’t forgiven Artie for it, not yet, but it hurts a little more when she thinks about Santana leaving her lying on her bed alone, so she decides ( _not to forget, but_ ) not to dwell on it.  
  
They dance and they have  _fun_  and it’s just like when she first joined Glee Club that she reaches for Santana’s skirt, to tug her closer and laugh and smile with her. Artie reaches her first, taking her hand and holding it tightly as he wheels himself over to a free seat.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Santana is watching them. Brittany wants to say she’s sorry, but there’s nothing to be sorry for.  
  
Unless a person can apologize for trying too hard and for loving too much. Because if someone can apologize for that, she would, even though  _Santana_  is the one who should apologize.  
  
Sometimes, she knows, Santana has trouble with her words. It’s different than when Brittany has trouble with her words; sometimes, she puts letters where they don’t go and Sam says that they’re kind of the same that way, that they have the same problem. Santana’s problem, though, is that sometimes, she doesn’t have any letters to put anywhere. They fade away between her head and her mouth and get lost in other words ( _meaner words_ ).  
  
She’ll try and reach halfway and wait for Santana to meet her there. She doesn’t want to do all the work but she knows that Santana won’t even try if Brittany doesn’t give her a reason to.  
  
So she stretches her hand out ( _not her real hand, but the one that makes her smile at Santana and wink when Ms. Holiday tells a funny joke_ ) and waits to see if Santana meets her halfway.  
  
It’s the new rule:  _I’m only going halfway_.  
  
\---  
  
 **The Fear You Won’t Fall – Joshua Radin**  
 _I’m breathing in / **Come find me**  / But it’s harder to feel this way / I miss you more than I should / Than I thought I could / Can’t get my mind off you_  
  
Santana sits in the choir room longer than she needs to, staring at the piano and contemplating if it would be  _too_  heavy to lift and throw.  _Probably,_  she muses sadly.  _Though I could get a couple of Cheerios to help me out…_  She dismisses the idea, because they’d all probably pull a muscle, weak links, and Sue would absolutely demolish her.  
  
They’re going to kill it at Finnocence and Lady Face’s parents wedding obviously. They only didn’t win Regionals last year because someone thought Josh Groban was a good judge of talent and she won’t brag, but New Directions is pretty goddamn good when no one is trying to outshine anyone else ( _though she’d never, ever say anything like that to Wheezy or the Dwarf, or even to Hummel for fear that their ego would just blow the windows out of the building_ ). They’re going to  _rock_  the wedding, but she keeps playing the rehearsal over in her head, stopping at the part where Puck takes Artie down the aisle, leaving her next to Brittany, waving those stupid ribbons like they’re the rejects in one of Coach Sylvester’s cheers.  
  
She hadn’t meant to reach for Brittany’s hand the way she did; it was just habit. She was just waving that stupid ribbon up and down and up and down and she reached for Brittany’s hand because it felt like eighth grade all over again, trying out for Sue’s Secret Summer Squad.  
  
Brittany had let go, though, and stepped forward, away from her and  _that_  hadn’t happened in eighth grade.  
  
She’s being ridiculous.  _No_ , the voice in her head sneers. You’re being pathetic. She’s sitting in the choir room, barely stopping her hand ( _the one that grazed Brittany’s hand before it hung in the air like an abandoned balloon_ ) from shaking and she’s thinking about Brittany.  
  
It’s  _pathetic_ , really, because Brittany obviously doesn’t miss her and this is some sort of twisted punishment. Whoever is playing God up there has erased everything in her head ( _all the algebra and the crappy physics laws she learned and even one of the Cheerios cheers_ ) and replaced it with Brittany.   
  
Just Brittany, always Brittany, everything Brittany.  
  
She looks up every time someone walks by the choir room door, but it’s never Brittany coming back to tell her that she was just goofing off; and that she didn’t mean to take her hand away that way; and that she’ll listen to Santana apologize and be done with this.  
  
There’s a part of her that’s never felt this way. Even when they fought, Brittany would brood silently next to her for an hour or two and then it would be over with. But this feeling ( _this sinking in her chest and tightening of her throat_ ) is something new. It burns through her just enough to scar a place she didn’t know existed inside of her, but she wouldn’t trade the feeling ( _of realization and hope_ ) for anything in the world.  
  
Except for having Brittany come find her.  
  
She sits in the choir room and resolves that she’ll get up in ten minutes and leave but twenty minutes later she’s still waiting; she’s still hoping Brittany is the one who comes through the door.  
  
\---  
  
 **A Little Bit – Madi Diaz**  
 _ **But I had to break the hope**  that these are feelings lingering / You’re the only one that hurts / Only one that hurts me more than a little bit_  
  
Brittany is sure that if one more person tells her that Santana is sitting in the choir room by herself, she’ll break their legs ( _except if it’s Artie, because his legs are already the worst kind of broken_ ). Mercedes has told her ( _twice_ ) and so has Puck, Quinn, Finn, Tina, and Rachel. She busies herself at her locker and when Mike leans against the one next to hers, she pretends like she doesn’t see him.  
  
“I’m thinking about going in there,” he says. “Tell her to go home, or something. Want to come?”  
  
She shakes her head. “I’ve got plans with Artie.” ( _It’s a lie, but Mike probably doesn’t know that._ )  
  
Make smiles. “I just saw him working out with Sam. Try again.”  
  
“Damn your Asian smartness, Mike Chang,” she mutters. Mike’s eyebrow disappears under his hair. “I heard someone say that once.”  
  
Mike Chang is a nice guy, because he doesn’t ask if she heard it from Santana like she knows he want to. Instead he shrugs. “Since you’re not busy,  _did_ you want to come with me?” He leans closer. “I’m afraid she might try and hurt me.”  
  
“I think she likes you more since you started Asian fusioning with Tina. I heard someone say that once,” she adds quickly. “I can’t go with you.”  
  
Mike sighs. “Brittany. It’s been, like, two days. I bet she’s sorry. Plus, didn’t you see the way she was looking at you today during the wedding rehearsal?”  
  
( _No, she didn’t. Because she was too busy looking away, pulling her hand away, getting _away_  in general._)  
  
From the moment Santana’s hand laced through hers, Brittany changed her rule. She can’t go halfway anymore, because halfway is not enough. Santana was always doing things halfway; Brittany can’t do that too.  
  
“Well,” Mike says. “It was like she was trying to take your clothes off.” She snaps her head around and grips the bottom of her jacket. “With her eyes,” he adds quickly. “In her head.”  
  
She deflates. “She used to do it with her hands.”  
  
Mike opens his mouth and closes it again.  
  
“Anyway. I can’t go talk to her. I’m tired of my heart hurting,” she says, pulling aimlessly on her zipper. “Usually only my head hurts but now it’s heart. I’m afraid it’ll go under attack, but that would mean that heart attacks aren’t from loving people too much.” She pauses. “Except I do.”  
  
“You do what?”  
  
Brittany shrugs. “Love her too much.”  
  
“Britt…”  
  
She shrugs again. “I can handle the head hurt. They make little red pills for that. But I’m not very good at heart hurt.” She sighs. “I think you should go. Tina might Asian-chop me if you keep talking. I heard someone…”  
  
“Say that once,” he finishes. “Okay. But come to school early tomorrow. We’ll dance it out.”  
  
Mike Chang is the nicest guy, because he pats her on the shoulder and walks up to Tina, reaching for her hand and spinning her so his arm lands across her shoulders and the way Tina smiles at him makes Brittany’s heart hurt just a little less. But she can still feel the burn of Santana’s hand across her wrist, sliding down her palm like she was going to try and hold her hand and the pain flares back up.  
  
She takes the long way out of school, making sure to dart by the choir room door, just to see.  
  
It might not be  _nice_ , but it makes her smile when she sees it’s true; that Santana is sitting there, almost like she’s waiting for something.  
  
\---  
  
 **After Afterall – William Fitzsimmons**  
 _ **I still love you**  / I still want you / I still need you / After all / After all _  
  
Santana stops short in the doorway to backstage, her eyes narrowing as she sees Brittany pushing up on her knees to kiss Hot Wheels. Her stomach churns again, but in disgust and anger this time, instead of the butterflies from earlier.  
  
She’s going to sing a solo in front of a giant audience and it’s her secret dream come true.  
  
It doesn’t matter; Santana would hand the solo over to anyone, ( _even the Yentl_ ), if it meant Brittany would forgive her.  
  
“Oh, no you don’t,” Puck says as she turns and makes a break for the door. He grabs Chang and tugs him in front of her escape route. “Your job is to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere and…” he whispers the rest into Chang’s ear and the Elastaboy nods.  
  
“I’ve got it,” he says confidently.  
  
She waits until Puck’s at least five feet away and tries again. Chang is freakishly speedy though, and blocks her attempt. “You can’t do that.”  
  
She sneers at him, crossing her arms over her chest ( _the way Sue taught them freshman year_ ) and lifts an eyebrow. “Oh. And are  _you_  going to stop me?”  
  
Chang’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he nods. “If I have to.”  
  
Santana is about to explain to him why he’ll never be able to do that ( _even though she’s sure if she pushed him hard enough, like _really_  hard, he could Kung Fu her ass_) but he nods to someone behind her and takes off.  
  
She has a clear path to the exit and as she turns to shoot a  _”ha! sucker"_  look at Puck, she stops. Any thought of getting out gets lost in the strands of blonde hair resting on Brittany’s shoulders and in the tangle of her braid.  
  
“Nervous.” It’s not a question; Brittany knows her better than anyone ( _she’s the only one who knows how Santana throws up before every cheerleading competition_ ).   
  
Santana nods anyway and her eyes slide closed in relief as cool, hesitant hands push back her hair and tuck it behind her ears. Her body slows it’s down and the butterflies in her stomach come to an almost-standstill.  
  
“Don’t be,” Brittany murmurs, leaning closer as she gather’s Santana’s hair in her fist, letting it drape down her bare back. “You’re going to be amazing out there. You deserve it.”  
  
 _She doesn’t deserve anything_.  
  
She opens her eyes and Brittany is right there, so close that Santana is breathing in her hairspray and perfume. “You were right,” she whispers.  
  
Brittany’s hands come to a stop, her arms on Santana’s shoulders. She wants to slide her own arms around Brittany’s waist and touch the small of Brittany’s back. ( _Her fingers know the dip of Brittany’s spine there, almost better than her fingers know how to tie her shoes._ )  
  
“You were right,” she whispers again. “I miss you. And I wanted to apologize.” Santana gives in and steps closer, her hands weaving through the fabric of Brittany’s dress. “I should have sung with you. I  _want_  to sing with you.” Her heart beats faster and she rushes on. “We can change the arrangement,” she insists. “It wouldn’t even be that hard. And we can find a second microphone.” She starts looking around for Schue or a stagehand but Brittany’s grip behind her neck tightens.  
  
“This is  _your_  chance,” Brittany says.  
  
“It could be  _our_  chance,” Santana counters. “We could blow them away.”  
  
She’s not just talking about the audience. She means everyone who thinks they can’t make it her; she means they could surprise the hell out of themselves if they took the chance.  
  
Santana just prays that Brittany hasn’t finished giving her chances.  
  
\---  
  
 **Somebody Loved - The Weepies**  
 _Now my feet turn the corner back home / Sun turns the evening to rose / Stars turning high up above / **You turned me into somebody loved**_  
  
Brittany can’t help but smile gently at Santana’s eagerness. She lets her hands run through Santana’s hair one more time and the brunette relaxes again. “I have to dance, remember?” she asks lightly.  
  
Santana’s head drops. “Oh. Yeah.” She gives a small half-smile. “You’re going to be amazing,” she says firmly. “You and Ch-Mike.”  
  
“It’s going to be hard,” she admits. She ducks her head sheepishly, feeling Santana’s fingers flex against her back. “I’m nervous too.”  
  
Santana’s eyes lock with her and the look in them sends the sleeping butterflies in her stomach ( _the ones she’s only ever told Santana about_ ) into a frenzy. “You’re going to be amazing,” Santana repeats quietly.  
  
Brittany shrugs.  
  
“No,” Santana insists, her fingers pushing, urging Brittany forward. Their noses bump against each other with each breath they take. “Brittany, you’re going to be incredible.”  
  
Artie had said that too ( _not exactly that, but close enough_ ). She had believed him because she knows he wouldn’t lie to her, even if sometimes she thinks he should, but now Santana is saying it and this sounds different. It feels like they’re having two different conversations, or like their one conversation morphed into another, but she’s still following it.  
  
She’s always following Santana ( _besides dancing and being more awesome than everyone in Glee combined, it’s what she’s best at_ ).  
  
There’s some other kind of look in Santana’s eyes, right behind the first look, and the butterflies calm down again until Brittany can hear her own heart beating.  
  
The thing about them ( _about BrittanyandSantana_ ) is that they’re good at reading each other. Santana always knows what Brittany is trying to say and Brittany always knows what Santana is trying to feel.  
  
Sometimes, though, they stumble and interpret the wrong thing. Even if Brittany is sure she knows the second look, she takes a deep, slow breath first.  
  
“Are you going to apologize?” she asks again, resting her forehead against Santana’s.  
  
She waits to be shot down ( _like the last time_ ). She waits for Santana to look up at her with her “ _I’m sorry_ ” eyes and gently push her away and she can feel her heart start to ache like before. She’s not expecting Santana to nod; not expecting Santana’s forehead to rock forward, sending her neck cracking back.  
  
“Shit,” she hears as frantic hands cup the back of her neck, bending it back forward. Santana’s eyes are wide and filmy ( _the way they get during the escape scene in “Finding Nemo”; like she’s going to cry_ ) and they’re moving quickly over Brittany’s forehead while one of her hands smoothes the skin out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…”  
  
Her head is spinning and there’s a chance that Santana is apologizing for trying to knock her out, but there’s a frantic pitch to Santana’s voice that tells her _no_ ; she’s apologizing for the duet, for not apologizing the first time, for  _everything_.   
  
She runs her open palm along the side of Santana’s face and the brunette still, looking up quickly and looking away.  
  
“Yes,” Santana breathes out. “I’m going to apologize. I’m apologizing,” she clarifies. “I just wasn’t…” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t ready.”  
  
“And you’re ready now,” Brittany finishes quietly, afraid to raise her voice. If she says it too loud and Santana says  _no_  then it’s too real and it’s too over. But Santana smiles just as shaky as she breathes and her hand curls around Santana’s cheek, urging her to say  _yes_  out loud for everyone else to hear so it’s real.  
  
“Yes,” Santana says again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Brittany leans in and Santana trails off, her breath still shaky but her eyes a little more wide and a little less filmy ( _the way they get after Marlin goes back for Dory_ ) and she watches as they cross while she gets closer.  
  
“Yes,” Santana says one more time, her bottom lip skimming across the curve of Brittany’s smile.  
  
She kisses Santana ( _after too many days apart and too many kisses from Artie_ ) and it’s just the way she remembers it being. There’s something softer about the way Santana kisses each corner of her mouth and something permanent in the way Santana’s fingers wind in her hair and holds her closer. There’s something perfect in the way that the butterflies in her stomach seem to float gently from one side to the other, swaying in time to Quinn’s voice.  
  
“I’m dancing for you,” she whispers as they take their places behind the curtain, her hand squeezing Santana’s.  
  
“Not if I sing for you first,” Santana whispers back as Quinn and Sam’s voices get closer.  
  
The curtain goes up.


End file.
